…And the Lost feature film will come out in 2025

We’re incredibly stoked about the new Indiana Jones movie — we even re-watched the trilogy on USA last weekend.

But it’s another example of a bizarre trend of movies being made about 15 years too late. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was made in 1989, so to wait nearly 20 years to make the next one in the saga seems strange. And now Harrison Ford is like 80.

Speed Racer was a show in the late 60s and again in the late 90s that, from what we’ve heard, was never exactly popular. It’d be like making a How I Met Your Mother movie in 30 years.

Also in this wave of movies made too late: Live Free or Die Hard, Nancy Drew, Alvin and the Chipmunks, Shaft, Transformers, Get Smart.


Been saying “good deal” a lot lately. Not really sure what the fuck that even means.


To say the NBA Playoffs are long and boring would be like beating Barbaro or Eight Belles. (Get it?! Get it?!)

Believe it or not, we like the seven-game format; we think it ensures the best team will win. And as we’ve written plenty times before, we like sports justice.

But the time between games is absolutely absurd. When the Lakers and Jazz play Sunday in Utah and wait until Wednesday to play in LA is aggravating. Last we checked, it takes about, oh, two hours to fly from Utah to LA.

Conspiracy to rest Kobe’s back?


Fun game: to sleep with Erin Andrews — one night, no strings attached, no anal — how far would you go? Would you…

-Give up red meat for a year?
-Lose (without pain) your left small toe?
-Go to work naked?
-Not have any other sex the rest of the year?
-Watch an entire hockey game?
-Admit to liking Jack Black?


We’re admittedly frugal at times. But nothing fucking grinds our gears like paying for parking. Paying for a motherfucking space next to a curb. Or on a giant, flattened slab of concrete with white lines. Ridiculous.

And we’re not talking about paying for parking at like a game or concert or something. But like on a fucking city street.

Absolutely outrageous. Not only is gas $4 a gallon, they bend you over when you reach your destination and stick a parking meter in your ass.


Nothing about getting a parking meter stuck in your ass sounds pleasant. Except you may then start shitting coins, which, we suppose, could have its perks.


Spygate sounds like the name of a fucking Dakota Fanning movie

From an email last week:

“can i be the first to say that this business of adding “-gate” to denote that something is scandalous, is maybe the stupidest thing i have ever heard of? i hate it.”

Couldn’t agree more. Watergate happened over 30 years ago and referred to a building called…get ready for this…WATERGATE!!

When the Patriots were illegally taping shit, they were not using Spygate-brand cameras or spying through an electric gate. No, a gate, or Watergate, or anything remotely connected had to do with that or any other recent scandal.

Lazy journalism. Slap on the wrist. Bad bad bad. (Though, if they wanted to call it the Illegal Taping Contra Scandal, then we’d be talking).


Elsewhere in relevant news, Richard Nixon is no longer the president.


Dakota Fanning apparently makes $3 million a movie. For three million dollars, you could probably find some one to cut her tongue out or staple her lips shut.


Our boss just made a “lives in the basement with his mother joke.”

Not about bloggers. About an overweight security guard. Bloggers and overweight security guards: one in the same.


Why are there no NBA Draft analysts? If Kiper can do seven rounds for the NFL, two for the NBA would be cake.


If you could switch bodies with a celebrity for one day who would it be?

Our answer is two-fold:

a. Carmen Electra. We would play with ourself all day long.

b. Tony Romo. This sounds pretty fun. Not the losing. The other shit. Fifteen grand to SHOW UP at a club. Awesome.


If you’re on the Facebook, you could probably base a masturbation session off of those ads to the left.


If you could fire a team, they should fire the Denver Nuggets. That was the sorriest excuse for a playoff series we can remember. The Nuggs have just as much talent as the Lakers, were only seven games worse and had the star power to win a series.

But Kornheiser made a good point on PTI saying that Denver is like a fantasy team in that it is loaded with stars, but has no chemistry.

It shouldn’t be George Karl’s job that’s in jeopardy. It should be every player on his team’s.

We don’t want to harm your cat, but we will…

You guys aren’t sick of this style of post, are you? If you are, go fuck your mother.

We really like them. Like really. We have more fun writing these than we do masturbating and, boy, we sure love masturbating.

It’s the combination of writing short lengths, being totally scatter-brained and writing in an even sillier tone than we normally use.

(Really though — that’s the third “really” in this segment — if you don’t like these posts, let us know. Then fuck yourself).

We don’t get too involved with the Facebook. Send some messages to friends afar, look at some pictures, and see what guys are trying to bang our girlfriend who lives in LA.

But what really gets us — what really fucking grinds our gears — is the “status” updates. Of our listed “friends,” we have ones that are saying, “____ stressed,” “____ is in the mood to cook :)” “____ is being 23.”

What. The. Fuck.

If we updated our fucking status, we’d say something like, “…is masturbating to your Facebook photos and plotting to run over your cat.”

We’ve just been informed by a colleague that it was snowing today in Tacoma, Wash., which is about 25 miles from Seattle.

In related news, Tuesday is the beginning of fucking APRIL!

We’re hard knowing that we have more Madness this afternoon, but we would be harder if our money wasn’t already squandered.

Last week we told you about the pool we do every year: eight guys do a fantasy draft of the 64 teams. So eight guys get eight teams each. Based on the total wins by those eight teams, that’s your winner. Usually 10-12 total victories wins the thing.

We had the fifth pick overall pick and here’s how our “team” turned out:

George Mason

Yeah, so we got bent over pretty good. Fucking Drake, man. That one stung. G’Town shitting the bed didn’t really matter much, just the final fuck you to a dismal performance.

For those keeping score, we have four total wins and one team left. That’s fucking dreadful.


We were thinking, with baseball season officially underway (even though any fan will tell you Opening Day is Monday), who is the worst statistical starter in the bigs?

Juan Pierre’s gotta be up there.

Pedro Feliz is mind-fuckingly bad. His OBP is terrible and if there’s a guy on first with less than two outs he’ll pull a slider low and away to short and begin a 6-4-3 double play.

Richie Sexson, pictured with a woman with fake breasts and a glass eye, redeems himself with decent power numbers. But for a middle-of-the-lineup hitter, his average is too low, strikeouts are too high and the hole in his swing is bigger than Joe Buck’s ego.


Fire Joe Morgan has perhaps the best description of Steven Segal movies we’ve ever seen:

“Not even computers could find value in Hard to Kill, Marked for Death, Out for Justice, or any of the other Adjective Preposition Violent-Thing movies he’s made. (I realize Hard to Kill is actually Adjective Violent-Infinitive, but you get the idea.)”

Our pals at Hotdog & Friends, which is your home for all things CBI, posed us the question whether or not we would do Laura Linney.

We said in Primal Fear yes, in Love Actually no.

Ballhype hosted an interesting discussion whether or not the NBA is a niche sport.

We’re not sure the answer. Lots of good arguments in there, lots of flawed points, too.

All we know is that while the NBA is loaded with star power, the only watchable team is Golden State when they play at home because the Warriors play a college-style game, show rare emotion and the fans are loud enough to drown out the fucking organ.

Not sure if others feel the same sentiment, but we’re far more interested in the likes of the College World Series, local high school basketball and women’s sports than we are in the NBA…especially come playoff time. (Unless, of course, the Warriors are beating the Mavs again).

Unless they’re going to release an unedited, R-rated version, behind the scenes video, ESPN should cut ties with Bob Knight. He’s bad.

And we’re in the minority, but we really like Doug Gottleib. He’s matter-of-fact, accurate and uses far more rationale than any other college basketball analayst.

Then there’s Billy Packer. Don’t get us started…

Enjoy the games, folks!

It’s times like these where writing a headline becomes challenging

It’s been one of those weeks.

We unfortunately had to slam you with “Would you do” posts three days in a row. That’s not really our style. We try to objectify women only once a week.

But time and vacation forced our hand. We were trying to get the field of 16 set for the next tourney and we’re heading to Arizona for Spring Training, well, now. We’re probably on a plane as you’re reading this. Even on the East Coast. It’s an absurdly early flight.

Anyway, so we bashed out three WYDs just to discover that we only learned how to count to 10. We accidentally ran 17 “Would you do” posts rather than 16.

But don’t worry, friends, we’ll have our first ever play-in game!

Of course, though, we didn’t have to pound you with three WYDs this week. Oh well. Go fuck a bathtub drain.

Vacation! Sort of. We’ll be gone until next Wednesday, but you’d never know. Our boy JMC will be filling in Monday, but then we’ll pop in from sandy beaches (actually baseball stadiums) where we’ll be sipping margaritas. (Actually margaritas, Long Islands, Jack and anything, beer, maybe some wine, paint thinner, Sno Cones).

Lozo is much better at these.

Don’t know about you, but we’ve been wondering how you get the ketchup into the ketchup packet. It’s been keeping us up at night. Like how the fuck do they do it? Tube? Assembly line? Magic?

There was a lot of fuss yesterday about The Big Lead revealing its identity. Turns out he’s an early 30s, white, freelance writer, which is the demographic of, oh, about 30 other sports bloggers.

Of course the attention is because TBL is a good, popular site. But still…

Seen ads for Buffalo Wild Wings? We’ve never actually seen one in person, but Buffalo Wild Wings was probably named by a three-year-old.

It’s like naming a pizza place Pepperoni Wild Pizza or a Chinese restaurant Mongolian Magic Beef.
Our top-3 TV shows:

1. Lost
2. Family Guy
3. Weeds

Honorable mentions: Heroes, The Office, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Dexter, PTI, College Game Night in March.

And you?

If you keep staring at your clock at work today and it feels like it’s been stuck on 1:30, don’t fret. Play with this NCAA-related toy that can keep you entertained until about 1:37. Play along with last year’s teams, and hey, don’t know the difference between a Hilltopper and Jayhawk? Help use it to fill out your bracket on Monday.

Our friends at Stiles Points has a good Q&A with another homie, Derek from Insomniac’s Lounge. Derek takes a nice cheap shot in there, so head over and play Where’s Waldo to see if you can find it in the long interview.

We’re very peaceful and non-confrontational, but something about the gym brings out our most violent thoughts.

If some one practices poor etiquette, we begin thinking how we can sodomize the person with the bench press bar.

Like the other day, we’re working (quickly) between two different areas. One is a machine, one is a bench with dumbbells. Since we dont’ have a towel to mark our territory and since it’s not correct to piss on the machine, we put the dumbbells on the bench to say, “we’re still using this. Don’t fucking tread, man, or the end of that bench press bar is going to be coming out of your mouth.”

So we go use the machine and come back to our marked bench to see that some one is now using it.

We would never act on these violent thoughts, but if that person were to get a flat tire on the way home, well, they deserved it.

We don’t ever spend money on filling out a bracket. If we wanted to throw away money, we’d roll up a $10 and light a blunt with it. But we don’t throw away money and prefer syringes.

But you have to bet on the Dance. So instead of just filling out a bracket, we essentially have a fantasy draft.

Here’s how it works:

-8 people
-Each person drafts 8 teams
-Random draft order and it snakes, like in a normal fantasy draft
-Each win is worth 1 point, no matter the round
-Most total wins (from your 8 teams) is your champion

That make sense? We encourage you do it. If anyone knows a way to do money over the Internet (say, $5?) we could do an online draft (AIM or Gmail) and have our own little pool. Who’s organizing it?

Ketchup or Catsup?

Fruit Stripe Gum will only let you space out for about 30 seconds

Is there a bigger let down in the food/chewing gum industry than Fruit Stripe gum?

It has all the look of a scrumptious burst of flavor with every chomp, but then — bam! — it’s gone. It’s 30 seconds of amazement followed by years of disappointment.

Much like the first time you got laid.
Brett Favre’s retirement means very little to us. Michael Jordan retired like eight times before finally calling it quits. Favre isn’t done until he can’t walk anymore.

Though, if this is truly it, it’s fitting that his last pass was an interception.

Why is a standard work day eight hours? Why eight? Why not six? Or four? If the work day was shortened, would oil prices increase any faster, would oxygen not be free and would the terrorists win?

And who actually works eight hours per day. Most people probably just space out for a while and do only around an hour of real, actual, work each day.

One could even look at it like this: if the employees are happy, productivity increases. How do you make employees happy? Make them work less.

Yeah, we’re going to run a very successful company someday soon. We’ll put in an hour a day and do, oh, about 15 minutes of real, actual, work.

Though we’re going to start charging for oxygen.

This fan’s sign is awesome!

Though this one is better!

Peter Pan really knew what he was talking about. Times are far simpler when you’re a kid, but it’s the little things that make us miss childhood.

If you do an analysis of food items catering to kids, it’s clear that times are better before you mature. Kids can eat Captain Crunch, Sprinkles yogurt and Gobble Sticks. If we took a Lunchables to work, we might get fired.

The moral of the story: sugar and preservatives improve general happiness.

If you had a fantasy draft of women — celebrities, models, adult stars — who’d you take?

Jessica Alba? Marisa Miller? Carmen Electra?

We might be on to something here! Who’s setting up the league? Do it at work. While you’re “spacing out.”

Sometimes there are ulterior motives for eating pancakes

One word describes Mrs. Butterworth: MILF.

She’s smart, sweet and delicious on pancakes. You could say that Mrs. Butterworth would be delicious with some Mrs. Butterworth’s on her.

And while Mrs. B’s bottle is a little more PC than it used to be, Aunt Jemima — quite the looker herself — is a bit behind the curve. Kinda like the Washington Redskins-equivalent for maple syrup.
Breakfast is our second least favorite meal of the day, only ahead of fourth meal, which is the stupidest fucking ad campaign in advertising. We eat like six meals by eight o’clock, so don’t tell us to think outside of the bun when we’re drunk and horny late at night.

Meanwhile, eggs are boring, oatmeal is like eating cement and cereal was much more fun when you were 7 and had your pick between a cartoon tiger, leprechaun or bunny.

We don’t understand MySpace and the Facebook. It’s neat to stay in touch with friends and see pictures; social networking sites are fantastic for that.

But then there are those people who play on these sites for hours. Like what the fuck do you do? It’s not like a video game where you advance to the next level.

And the people who update their “status” letting you know that they’re studying, taking a shit, or making sweet love to Mrs. Butterworth? Fuck that.

Usually we have no problem with ESPN. It still has the best coverage of games of any network. It has solid play-by-play guys, decent color commentators and the hottest pieces of ass roaming the sidelines.

Yet there are times where the network’s self-promotion is bothersome. Take for example Wednesday night on College Game Night. Before showing highlights of what must’ve been a great game between The U and Duke, we got to see highlights of the blowout victories of Memphis and Tennessee and then a preview of that game, which conveniently, ESPN is carrying Saturday. That’s a serious lack of news judgment.

Oh, and 1st and 10 is perhaps the worst 30 minutes of television since the invention of cable. How nobody has cut out Skip Bayless’ tongue is mind-boggling.

We forgot how to sleep.

We’ll be tired all day, be ready to go to sleep at 10 and then get a second wind, stay up until two, get in bed, and fall asleep at three.

And naturally, wake up at nine, tired, yet able to fall back asleep.

That’s fucked.

We need some Ambien, big time.

Hey, Oscars Sunday. Who ya got?

Here’s what we want:

Best Picture: There Will Be Blood or No Country for Old Men — if it’s Atonement, that’d be criminal.
Actor: Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood
Actress: Fuck cares?
Supporting Actor: Javier Bardem, No Country
Supporting Actress: This is still an award?

The first of many pornos we’ll direct/co-star will be called, “No Cunt-ry For Small Men.”

If February melted, would anyone notice?

Salvador Dali was on to something. What if you could melt time? Or clocks? Or stop time? Then you could time travel, which is much more Marty McFly than Salvador Dali.

Speaking of clocks and the future, if you could go back in time and fix one sports-related event, what would it be? Us, well, we probably wouldn’t have let Dusty Baker take the ball from Russ Ortiz in a certain game.

National Signing Day is one of the most overrated, bullshit non-events that gets blown way out of proportion.

It’s like the NFL Draft — a great event, mind you — with unestablished players.

The two biggest recruits we remember making a splash on Signing Day were Lorenzo Booker (Florida State) and Derrick Williams (Penn State). Both were supposed to change the landscape of their respective teams and lead them back to glory.

Both were fine players, but nothing that special. They’re like the equivalent of a T.J. Duckett: decent player, but never made it big.

This time of year sucks. It’s cold, wet and the only things going on sports-related are the NBA and mid-season college hoops.

If we could hibernate, we would. We’d go fucking hang out with some polar bears and just take the month of February off.

Our colleague and fellow blogger Josh is a stupid, distracting, soccer jersey-wearing douchenob. And he likes soccer. And he accepts that the U.S. and Mexico can tie.


In this results-driven world, we want a fucking winner and loser. What if the Revolutionaries and the Redcoats had tied?


Take your pick:

Hangnail or paper cut?

Javier Bardem or Daniel Day Lewis?

Duke or Carolina?

Red or blue?

Front door or back door?

The Shaq trade is mind-boggling. We imagine that Shawn Marion must’ve been a problem in the clubhouse; something other than getting an old, expensive big man sparked this deal. We think Marion forced Phoenix’s hand.

What if Shaq melted?